


The Jester-Prince and his Lord

by TheForestUnderQuarantine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Lance (Voltron), Galra Keith (Voltron), Lance and allura are NOT related, Lance is royalty from another region of Altea, M/M, Prince Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 12:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20873915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheForestUnderQuarantine/pseuds/TheForestUnderQuarantine
Summary: Visiting Lord Keith of Marmora gets swept up in the whirlwind that is Prince Lance McClain. What starts as an attempt to avoid loathsome revelries with an attractive jester sees Keith swept up in political intrigue & assassination attempts, as the hard-headed prince seeks to right wrongs that others would see him silenced for.Keith has to protect his idiot.





	The Jester-Prince and his Lord

Slim fingers danced over the brooch pinning his cloak together at his chest. The jagged purple nicked knife symbol of House Marmora lit up neon blue at the contact. His yellow, pupil-less eyes blinked at the beautiful Altean man before him. Despite the lack of pupils, there could be no doubt to where his eyes were fixed.

“Are you a jester?” he breathed.

The young man in his arms chuckled, the sound rich and twinkling, if a little reedy. The snort at the end ruined his misconception that the man was a godly illusion, but served to endear the strange Altean to the newly appointed Lord. A tilt of the head had his multiple piercings shining and adding to the lightness of the moment. Keith wanted to nibble on the points of those ears. The golden teardrop shapes of the earrings were a sharp contrast to the pleasant, somewhat mischievous smile on the stranger’s face. The blue scales beneath his eyes were a flat imitation of the multilayered shifting depths of his half-lidded eyes. Pink on blue on blue on blue. He leaned even closer, breath fanning over Keith’s neck. Keith swallowed. 

Tried to count the ways the man wasn’t the most beautiful he’d ever seen. The eyes irises were perhaps beady. The man’s limbs gawky and long, his posture slouched. The chin perhaps to triangular, pointier than Keith’s own blade. And that nose—total ski-slope. He’d fly right off it and up into the sky if he were atom-sized and skiing for his life. It was adorably pointed—goddamnit, even looking at the slightly strangely distinctive features was endearing this man to him. He was the handsomest being he’d ever seen.

“Aw, do you think I’m funny?” A hint of insecurity entered his voice. “Or did you see me completely strike out with Lady Florona and then spill the entirety of my dessert on her gown tripping over a sleeping yupper and my niece Nadia? Because I swear I’m usually suaver than that, with much better balance.” 

Keith blinked at him, dazed by his complete lack of breath or pause in his unprompted ramble. 

The Altean man finally looked at his gaping mouth and stopped, striking a pose. “You see, sharpshooters need to have a steady hand and sure gaze to make a shot, and I’m the very best in the kingdom.” His well dentally maintained (or else the man was extremely blessed) white teeth seemed to sparkle as he shot a toothy smirk.

The young Galra lord found himself smirking in turn, albeit less flagrantly. “Really? Is that so?”

“You know it,” the man nodded.

“Clearly I don’t know enough,” Keith brought them closer together, broad chest pressed against broad chest. Another warrior, clearly. 

The Altean snorted. “We can’t all be brainiacs.”

Keith narrowed his eyes, remembering the way the other lads in the wards used to call him slow and dumb. There faces were a hair-breath apart, part in challenge, part in interest. He took a step back and the Altean seemed to sag in disappointment at the loss of closeness and tension. Keith merely grinned and rubbed the fine purple hair over his jawline. “Afterall, I was clearly wrong about your profession. And I have no idea why you’ve joined me in hiding in a garden shed.”

He’d thanked the stars and galaxies when he’d found the escape house on one of his rounds with a wealthy suitor. Shiro would look at him with that endlessly disappointed, arms-crossed older sibling frown if he knew he was waiting out the hours of the party in King Alfor’s garden shed, but what Shiro didn’t know wouldn’t give him more grey hairs.

“Well, what about you?” the impish smile had returned to the Altean’s handsome face, all insecurities and disappointments hidden.

Keith frowned, slumping as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t do well with crowds.”

“Classic wallflower, I got ya.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Keith bristled.

The man held up a hand in a soothing calm down gesture. “But I’d love to get to know you,” the smirk returned. “Afterall, a wallflower needs a social butterfly for pollination.”  
The Altean blinked a few times, his cheesy smile slipping as he was met by a stony glare. 

“That was terrible.”

“I’d like to see you do better!” The Altean pouted.

“Hm, I’ll pass.”

“And admit defeat.”

“At corny pick-up lines? 100%.” Keith smirked. “You ever going to tell me what you’re doing in here?”

“Sometimes I get tired of performing,” the man sighed. The faint trails of moonlight seeping through the broken window of the garden shed lit up his hair, the strands glowing like white sand under stars. But beneath this beauty, it illuminated the sallowness of his skin, the bruise-like bags under his eyes. The man was weary. 

Keith floundered beneath his scowl and stony face, not knowing what to do. Moments like these, he wished he was funny. “Performing? You sure you’re not a Jester?”

The Altean let out a tired huff of laughter. “Somedays, I definitely feel like a joke. But what did give you that impression?”

Keith was glad he was looking away, as he awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck beneath his heavy hair. His long ears flattened defensively against his head in embarrassment. “I just thought you were jesting. I saw you earlier across the room and you were glowing with the conversation and—I don’t know. I just assumed you were here to make a joke.”

The Altean’s eyes seemed to soften. “Not at all. To be honest, I just needed a distraction. My escape plan just said: get out of there. Hide. But I can’t escape my own racing thoughts, sometimes.” He fiddled with the golden embroidery on his sleeves, a nervous tic Keith new all to well. “And what better way to pass the time than with a handsome stranger.”

“Keith.”

“Keith?” the Altean blinked at the strange Galra. The name seemed strange, coming from a place of hesitation and confusion.”

“My name is Keith,” the aforementioned Keith casually shrugged. “I don’t really want to be a stranger.”

“Keith,” the Altean said the name gently, almost reverently. It sounded—nice. He leaned closer again, resting his head in the crook of his neck. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, hiding buddy. I’m—

There was a loud rapping on the door. “Prince Lance?”

“Oh, Quiznak.”


End file.
